


What We Have Here

by findingbetty



Series: Something to Tell You [2]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Friendship, Lawyer!Jughead, Long Live Bughead, Plausible Deniability, Six months later, What we have here is a sequel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-11
Updated: 2017-10-15
Packaged: 2019-01-09 18:22:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12281973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/findingbetty/pseuds/findingbetty
Summary: Re:Something to Tell YouA story of everything else.





	1. Paramount

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note it would be advisable to read Something to Tell You first :)

He’d sworn he wouldn’t move apartments again.

In retrospect, that was probably a slightly rash proclamation. As honest a reflection as it was of his distaste for relocating, obviously he knew everything had to come to an end eventually. You had to be a bit pragmatic about these things. Then again, Jughead could never have foreseen something so good coming to an end so soon, let alone predicted his next move would be into an apartment with his girlfriend.

Life was full of surprises.

It had been roughly a year since they’d first moved into Precinct. And for perhaps, what, six months of that he and Betty had been together? He wasn’t entirely sure about that. The timeline had always been a little hazy to both of them. But six months seemed like a respectable effort. He didn’t know any other friends who had spent that duration of time living convivially with two couples under one roof.

As it had turned out, there were perhaps reasons for that. Jughead didn’t _want_ to attribute blame, but if nobody was going to stop him, he would definitely say it was Veronica’s fault. There was always one person in any roommate arrangement that was impossible to live with. As far as he was concerned, Veronica was the ultimate scapegoat.

At least, that always had been and always would be his line. Privately he knew such an accusation to be a little unfair. After all, the four of them had co-existed fairly harmoniously until the last month or so. For all their differences, Veronica was still his best friend’s girlfriend, she was still his girlfriend’s best friend, and she was also still, although somewhat miraculously, one of _his_ closest friends.

The reality was that the dynamic had just shifted a little, simply in the way it did when two roommates become more than just roommates. Eventually it became apparent there were too many couples and there was too little space. Not literally, of course. He was reasonably certain their Precinct apartment was more spacious than most. But metaphorically speaking, a little distance and a little more room to breathe could only be good for everyone.

All issues aside, the change afoot did feel a little sad. Jughead felt surprisingly nostalgic. He would miss all of it.

He just couldn’t foresee their current living arrangement surviving any longer than it already had. It was better to part ways now while they were all still friends, than in several months time when it was too late. A pre-emptive move. While initially it had been proposed that Jughead and Betty move out and find their own place, Veronica had eventually decided she and Archie would prefer to downsize too.

This had struck Jughead as being a little ridiculous, considering the Lodges had originally purchased Precinct specifically for Veronica and Archie, but he had long since given up trying to understand the logic of the Lodge family.

Her father had really pulled through, though. Although Jughead never wanted to admit it, it was times like these that made him realise it was often about who you know more than what you know. As painful a realisation though that might be, he wasn’t in a position to turn down help from a property magnate. They’d been very lucky. Between them they’d successfully secured two new apartments, both still conveniently located within the centre of town. Neither party was going to have to relinquish their harbour view, and everyone would continue to reap the benefits of newly appointed interiors and fancy furnishings. The new apartments weren’t even all that very far away from each other. Close enough to collectively keep an eye on each other, but allowing enough distance to mitigate risk of their friendship completely imploding completely.

Besides, absence made the heart grow fonder. At least, Jughead hoped that was the case. Because in this precise moment, laden down with a box full of Veronica’s kitchenware, he didn’t feel especially fond of Veronica _or_ Archie.

Given both the new and old apartments were fully furnished, one might think it wouldn’t take so very long to pack up.

One would be wrong.

Jughead had long been conscious of it in so much as it amused him to needle her about it, but in all honesty he hadn’t fully realised quite how much stuff Veronica had brought into Precinct within the last year. It was endless. There were kitchen appliances, potted plants and various other ornate things that seemed to serve no real purpose. He himself was prepared to take responsibility for the vast numbers of books, but that was it. Everything else was hers.

His remarks as such had not gone done well. Veronica had ignored him, and he’d earned some stern glares from Betty. And she was supposed to be on his side. Apparently now was ‘not the time.’

“I want you to take that box downstairs and give it to Archie,” Veronica said briskly.

An order if ever he’d heard one. Jughead gave her an appeasing smile and, in the interests of keeping the peace, obligingly carried it out to the elevator.

In what he felt was a rather well-deserved display of luck, the elevator doors opened just as he reached the landing. Betty stepped out.

“Oh, hey!” she said, upbeat and cheerful.

Betty was surely the only person to live a life devoid of Veronica’s wrath, and therefore the only one capable of approaching moving day with such optimism. Until she’d showed up a year ago, he wouldn’t have thought it was possible for anyone to stay on Veronica’s good side. But it just went to show, there really wasn’t such a thing as being too sweet or too nice or too good of a person.

“You seem weary,” Betty smiled.

“I _am_ weary.”

“Shh,” she placated, standing up on her tiptoes and pressing a casual kiss against his lips. “Just think about how nice it will be to have our own place to ourselves at the end of this.”

Appealing an idea as this was, it did also made him a little nervous. With every box he carried downstairs, he felt himself drawer nearer and nearer to it being a reality, and it was all very unsettling.

He pushed this feeling aside and smiled back. “I know.”

Archie, under strict instructions from Veronica, was downstairs monitoring the removal company. Jughead handed him the box and then leaned back against the wall to watch proceedings for a moment.

“Dude,” Archie said, puffing slightly as a result of having spent the morning bearing the brunt of Veronica’s hoarding problem. “I can’t believe we’re out of here this afternoon.”

Neither could Jughead.

“It’s the end of an era,” Archie went on, always one to love an overused phrase.

It kind of was, but Jughead also kind of wished everyone would stop saying that. Could you even quantify a year as an era?

“An era implies a time period that was long and distinct. I don’t know that 12 months cuts it.”

Archie laughed. “It’s long and distinct in terms of your life. When have you ever committed to something for 12 months before?”

Jughead chose not to validate this unnervingly valid comment, and instead shoved him slightly in response. Archie lost his balance momentarily briefly, and dropped the box of kitchenware. The sound of something smashing into 1000 tiny pieces rang through the air.

Oops.

Archie looked down at the box for a moment, and then turned to Jughead. “Guess we’ll blame that one on the movers, yeah?”

Jughead thought that would be best.

In the wake of this failure, Archie abandoned his duties briefly. “So, moving in with your girlfriend, huh?”

Why did people keep fixating on that.

“Archie, I’ve been living with my girlfriend for six months now. More if you count the months of uncertainty before it was really _a thing_.”

“Yeah but this is different. Now it’s just you two. No more blaming anyone else when things go wrong. No more interference. This is it,” he said dramatically.

 _Thanks_ , Jughead thought. That didn’t feel ominous at all.

“All the same,” Archie went on. “I’ll miss living with you guys.”

He was so dramatic. It wasn’t like they were never going to see each other again. Still, Jughead sighed. “Yeah,” he nodded, clapping Archie on the shoulder. “Me too.”

 

***

 

The breakfast bar was a sacred place.

Jughead watched Archie stand up and move to allow Betty to sit down in her usual seat. It was only fair, he supposed. Now didn’t seem the time to encourage her to change her ways.

“This is our last meal at the breakfast bar,” Archie mused. “And it’s not even breakfast.”

Jughead wasn’t sure it even constituted a meal. It was more a case of Veronica demanding he and Archie eat anything and everything that was left in the refrigerator.

This afternoon had been the agreed upon date that they were to move out, but Jughead was still struggling to see the need for such dramatics. Given Veronica’s father was their landlord, there was surely an element of flexibility to the whole arrangement. As best Jughead knew, no new tenants had even yet been confirmed, so Precinct was going to be temporarily empty from here on anyway.

On an entirely irrelevant note, this was actually of slight fiscal concern to Jughead, but he supposed all the rent they wouldn’t be collecting was not his worry.

Must be nice.

“Veronica,” he heard Betty say. “We can always take some of this food with us when we leave. It’s not the end of the world.”

Ever the voice of reason. If Jughead had rejected the idea of consuming an entire refrigerator’s worth of food as part of moving procedures, Veronica would have likely disregarded him. But because it was Betty’s suggestion, she folded.

“Yeah, I guess so,” Veronica conceded.

It was good to have Betty on your team, not least because he didn’t particularly fancy eating an entire loaf of bread at this precise moment.

It was funny to think about how much things had changed over the last year. Of all the things that had eventuated, it was undoubtedly Betty that he was most grateful for. Memories of their early days would always be intrinsically linked to this place for him. Such was the nature of finding a home in place and with a person at the same time.

Jughead watched Veronica disappear from view as she crouched down to rummage through the lower kitchen cupboards, presumably to check for anything they may have left behind.

While she wasn’t looking, Archie surreptitiously tipped the remnants of a bottle of milk down the kitchen sink.

‘Who put this here?” came Veronica’s voice, muffled but still audibly haughty.

Jughead didn’t have any recollections of hiding anything illicit down there, but it was possible he’d just forgotten. Either way, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to be present for whatever may be about to unfold.

Veronica reemerged brandishing Archie’s basketball, a disapproving look on her face.

Oh yeah, that _was_ him. However many months ago it had been. He cleared his throat. “Probably Betty,” he said sincerely, wrapping an arm around her shoulder.

Veronica balanced it on one hand and fixed him with a the kind of unreadable look that always left him feeling a little apprehensive. Like he wasn’t sure how this going to play out. That was always half the fun of it, of course, but equally it did inevitably make him feel a little guilty.

But then she gave in and laughed. She dusted the basketball off and threw it to Betty, who threw it to Archie, who bounced it a couple of times on the kitchen tiles before tossing it in Jughead’s direction.

He caught it.

“You should probably take that,” Veronica said, smiling at him. “Archie’s still subject to a lifelong ban from basketball in the kitchen, but I guess you’re now at liberty to do as you please.”

For a brief moment Jughead felt a little sad about this, but it was the kind of sadness that marked the end of something good. Something you wouldn’t forget. Something you _couldn’t_ forget. And then smiled back at her.

They gathered the last of the surplus food into the last box, and cleared the breakfast bar.

It felt foolish to note how empty the place felt now that they had emptied it of all their belongings, but Jughead did so anyway. He didn’t vocalise it, but he suspected he wasn’t the only one who was aware of this.

In what felt very much like a symbol of finality, he and Betty gave their keys to Veronica as they assembled to leave. She pocketed them, and then hugged Betty for so long and so tightly Jughead found himself concerned as to whether either of them could still breathe. Then when they broke apart, Veronica reached out and hugged him too. He tried to put a lot of unsaid things into that hug, and he thought she might have understood, because when she pulled away she gave him the kind of understanding smile that made him feel like everything was going to be okay.

Jughead gave the room one last cursory glance as they filed out, and knew that, whatever was to come, he would look back on this time and know he had fully appreciated it while he was here.

It was a good feeling.

 

***

 

Betty held the door open for him while he wheeled the last of their suitcases inside.

“Welcome to Paramount,” he said as she closed the door and followed after him.

While slightly more compact, the new apartment was similarly appointed and just as light and airy as their previous one. He and Betty stood in the middle of the room next to their pile of belongings and surveyed their surroundings.

“I can still see the harbour,” Betty murmured, wandering over to one of the full length windows and gazing out over the city.

This was of rather less importance to him, but it had been her one request and he’d gone to great lengths to ensure it was fulfilled. There was just something about the water, apparently.

Jughead shifted some boxes onto the kitchen counter, and then went over to where Betty was stood in front of the window. He stood behind her and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. She leaned back against him. He still couldn't quite believe this was all theirs. And then went over took her hand and led her around the corner to where the the two bedrooms were located. They inspected them one after the other. 

The rooms were of similar size and proportion, but he was kind of leaning towards them taking the one with the large built in bookcase. "Which of these should we commander?" he asked.

“I prefer the one without the bookcase,” Betty said. “It gets more light.”

Well. That was settled then. He supposed the other room could always be their library.

Jughead collapsed down onto the bed in Betty’s chosen room, pulling her down with with him. She lay back against the pillows next to him and stared up at the ceiling, her hand over his. He rolled over onto his side and watched her.

“This is where we live now,” she said, as if this realisation was only just sinking in.

“I know.”

“I thought I would be more sad. But actually, I think I’m mostly excited about what’s to come. I’m really happy we did this.”

A part of him did wonder whether this was all happening a little too quickly. But he was happy too, in a slightly terrified but still very optimistic kind of way. He didn’t quite seem to be able to vocalise it, but that was nothing new. And she probably knew that. Instead, he leaned over and kissed her temple, before dropping his face down and burying it in the pillow next to her.

“Reckon we can make a start on christening this new bed?” he murmured hopefully, his voice muffled by the pillow.

“No.”

He sighed.

“We have to unpack,” Betty protested, moving to sit back up. "We have work tomorrow and I don't even know which of those suitcases is mine."

Jughead was tired of packing and repacking and unpacking, but he supposed the sooner they made a start on it, the sooner it would be over. There was just one more thing to do beforehand.

“We should go and introduce ourselves to the neighbours first.”

Betty scoffed. “I don't really think that should be our priority.”

"It’s the polite thing to do!”

He saw her roll her eyes. Manners and politeness were always his surest means of persuasion, even if it was in jest. He offered her a hand, pulled her up off the bed and then led her back out of the apartment.

There was only one other apartment on their landing, the door directly opposite theirs. He winked at Betty, and then reached out and knocked on the door. He could hear voices coming from inside. The sound drew nearer and nearer until it stopped entirely, and the door opened.

Veronica stood in the doorway.

“Ughh,” she said, her polite, welcoming expression dissipating immediately. “I thought you might be someone new and interesting.”

She was just such a ray of sunshine.

Jughead adopted his most charismatic smile. “No such luck. Just be grateful we knocked. As your new neighbours, we just wanted to introduce--”

“Oh, _please_ ,” Veronica interjected, still haughty but now holding back a smile. She stepped aside, opening the door little more and ushering them in.

Unpacking be damned.

Space was good and all, but it wouldn’t do to have too much of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're looking for a sequel, this is it.
> 
> Thanks to jandjsalmon for her research assistance, and also for her reassurance I didn't 'leave the fandom to write about One Direction'. (Lol, what?!)
> 
> I'm not really on tumblr anymore, but if ever you want to ask me a question, you can do so via [@findingbetty](https://findingbetty.tumblr.com) x


	2. From Now On

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note it would be advisable to read Something to Tell You first :)

The glass doors opened and Jughead walked purposefully inside.

He’d always thought it helped to do these things purposefully. It made him feel like he couldn’t turn back, even if he really wanted to.

He was a little earlier than usual, so he wasn’t joined by the usual hoards of people heading for their respective offices. The foyer was almost empty, and the echoes of his own footsteps were clearly audible. He keyed in the floor number, and watched the numbers on the screen count backwards as the elevator descended from level 21.

Jughead paused a moment when it arrived at the ground floor and the doors opened. He reached up and pulled his beanie off, stuffing it in his pocket. He ran a hand through his hair in an attempt to make it look slightly less unruly, and then stepped inside the elevator and began his ascent to the beginning of the end of what had been, until now, a pleasant morning.

It was too early for anyone to be at reception. In fact, as he made his way to his desk he noted the office was almost entirely empty. This still took him by surprise every time. In his previous job, he was so used to arriving at some ungodly hour and finding everyone else had been there since dawn that at some point it had started to seem entirely normal. He wasn’t sure quite how one was supposed to un-normalise that.

His new firm was smaller and less prestigious, but from the outset it had promised a healthier work culture. His experience over the last six months had proved that to be true. For starters, people didn’t consistently arrive and leave during hours of darkness. People also took lunch breaks. And periodically they missed deadlines and the world didn’t completely end.

All of which did beg the question of why he was here at such an hour, but he supposed old habits die hard.

Besides, his desk was awash with disorderly paper work. Perhaps he wouldn’t need to be here so early if people didn’t keep leaving fucking files on his desk. It was a constant problem. No sooner than he’d cleared it and got everything in order than someone came in when he wasn’t looking and deposited another file. He’d gone so far as to formulate systems. He’d tried to educate all and sundry that new files belonged on the left hand side of his desk, and current files belonged on the right.

As it would seem, nobody else particularly cared.

There was a knock on the door, and one of the secretaries popped into his office.

“Hi Jughead.”

He was really not in the mood for this right now, but he smiled anyway. “Good morning!” he said, summonsing as much personality as he could find at this hour on a Monday morning. “How was your weekend?”

“Yeah, it was great thanks. I just wanted to tell you I left some more files on your desk.”

Jughead suppressed a weary sigh, knowing that she was only doing her job. “Excellent. Thanks for letting me know.”

“Also, your 11 o’clock conference has been cancelled.”

He let out a short laugh. “Oh thank goodness. I haven’t even had a chance to look at that yet.”

“Do the partners know that?” she asked, giving him a knowing look.

“No. And I think it would be best if we withhold that particular piece of information.”

She shook her head in amusement and backed out of the room, closing the door behind her.

Jughead was left to contemplate the day ahead. He reorganised the chaos that had been left on his desk, fetched himself a coffee and spoke briefly with the IT department about a minor technical issue. Suddenly he'd been at work for over an hour, and still he hadn't made a start on anything billable. He was just about to start clearing emails when his office door swung open again, this time without warning.

Jughead rearranged his face into something he hoped looked engaging enough to invite conversation, but not so engaging as to invite any more work. He had quite enough of that.

“Jughead. Good to see you here bright and early.”

Good was not a word Jughead would have chosen himself, but if ever there was someone he wasn’t prepared to contradict it was the senior partner.

“I wondered if you might have some time this afternoon to attend a client meeting?” Simon queried.

Jughead shook his head. “Sorry, I’m tied up. I have to run a mentoring session this afternoon.”

“Really? With who?”

“One of the new graduates.”

Simon nodded in acknowledgement. “That sounds... character building.”

That was one way to describe it. Jughead grimaced. “He’s extremely annoying. He thinks he knows more than me.”

Simon laughed. “I imagine that wouldn’t be outrageously different from how you were a couple of years ago.”

“No,” Jughead said emphatically. “He’s significantly worse than I was.”

Simon looked skeptical. “Well,” he said, casting this aside. “When you do have a moment we really need to discuss this upcoming possible secondment.”

“Sure.”

Jughead was sure only of the fact that this was not a conversation he wanted to have, but there didn’t seem to be any way of getting around that. Simon stood there in front of the window a moment, hands in his pockets as he stared out at the view. And then he turned and swept out of Jughead’s office as briskly as he had arrived.

Jughead breathed a sigh of relief at having not been given any more work that was due in the immediate future, and then returned to his emails.

It looked like it was going to be yet another long day, of a long week, of a long month. But since everything else around him seemed only to be changing, perhaps that was not the worst thing.

 

***

 

When he arrived back at the apartment that evening, Betty wasn’t home. However, it was clear to him that she’d been home at some stage that evening, because several of her belongings had been discarded haphazardly over their bed. He pushed them aside and collapsed down on top of it, still wearing his suit. He lay there face down for a while, trying to escape the weight of the working day.

The apartment was dead silent. Not even the road noise from however many floors below was audible.

Having only just got home, he already didn’t want to go back to work tomorrow. Not for the first time he found himself entertaining ideas about all the many other ways he might be able to spend the hours between 9 to 5. Something that did't fill him with immeasurable dread at the thought.

It took all of his willpower to drag himself back up off the bed and change out of his suit. When it was almost 6pm and Betty still hadn’t arrived home, he began to suspect her of being at yoga. On those grounds, he was probably meant to take some responsibility and start cooking dinner. He ventured out to the kitchen, pausing briefly to acknowledge and be slightly depressed by the pile of suitcases still waiting to be unpacked. He opened the fridge and inspected its contents, and promptly resigned himself that dinner was going to necessitate a quick trip to Wholefoods.

His overarching and ever present feeling, though, was how empty and hollow the apartment felt. For the first time it struck him that he was so very used to having other people around. The absence of background noise or quiet chatter - or even loud chatter in Archie’s case - was unnerving. There was a distinct lack of distraction. He wasn’t sure he liked it. It wasn’t like he needed any more time for introspection. He did quite enough of that was it was.

If he couldn’t bring himself to make arrangements for dinner, the very least he could do was make a start on the last of their unpacking. But somehow, he couldn’t quite do that either.

He abandoned all pretence of domesticity and exited the apartment.

The door across the hall was unlocked, so he let himself in.

If he’d had concerns about his and Betty’s poor effort at unpacking, they paled in comparison to his feelings about the state of Veronica and Archie’s apartment. Considering Veronica had many times more belongings than the rest of them put together, he supposed it made sense that their apartment would still be looking chaotic. But still, it did little to quell his unease.

People like her were the reason his desk always ended up in such a state.

As had become so customary over the last year, Veronica was busily preparing something delectable, while Archie hovered around the kitchen in anticipation. And to his pleasant surprise, Betty was there too, sprawled lazily across the couch. He briefly felt a bit more hopeful.

“Hey,” she said, waving across the room. “How was work?”

_Dreadful._

He smiled at her. “It was fine.” He couldn’t seem to face asking her the same question and getting a genuinely positive response. Instead, he pressed on. “What are you up to over here?”

Betty sat up as he perched down on the arm of the couch. “Just waiting for you to come home,” she said simply, looking up at him.

She looked content, like she’d had a good day. As much as he didn’t particularly want to talk about that other people’s good days, he was pleased. It hadn’t always been that way for her, and he’d watched with a sense of overwhelming pride over recent months as she’d seemed to become more and more comfortable with her role at work.

He leaned over and placed a light kiss on her lips.  

“Hey, are you guys hungry?” Veronica asked.

“Oh, no, we’re good, Veron--”

“I’m always hungry, yeah!”

Betty stopped mid sentence and cast him a perplexed look. He felt a little sheepish. It was something of an automatic response. It had just kind of slipped out.

“We don’t live here, Juggie,” Betty said pointedly.

Well, no. He defintely realised that.

“It’s okay,” Veronica said, sounding unusually cheerful. “I made enough for you guys too.”

Jughead felt an unexpected but all consuming sense of gratitude towards Veronica. It might have been because he genuinely was hungry, but equally there was something comforting about the idea of sitting down and having dinner with everyone as if nothing had changed.

Denial, the key to almost everything.

This was also an appealing offer in so much as it would allow him to determine the cause of Veronica’s cheerfulness.

“What’s got you in such a jubilant mood this evening, Veronica?” he asked as the four of them sat down.

Veronica clapped gleefully. “We’re getting two cats!”

Jughead gazed at the two of them in disbelief, unsure as to whether he’d heard her correctly. Betty had clearly been privy to this conversation earlier. She continued to calmly serve platefuls of lasagna, this startling piece of information of no surprise to her whatsoever.

“ _What?”_ he said, unable to hide his bewilderment.

Veronica did a gleeful sort dance in her chair. “Two of them!" she exclaimed. "I just confirmed everything with the breeder this evening. They’re pedigree!”

Of course they were.

“It’s been little more than 24 hours, and you’re already replacing Betty and me with some random cats?”

“ _No._  Two pedigree Russian Blue kittens. Don’t be jealous -you guys can be their legal guardians if anything happens to us.” Veronica beamed at him and passed a dish of steamed broccoli.

This was so very far from the point that Jughead didn’t actually have an immediate response. It was ridiculous. Instead, he turned to Archie. “You _agreed_ to this?” he asked incredulously.

Archie finished his mouthful. “I stipulated some terms and conditions.”

Jughead couldn’t imagine any term or condition that could possibly swing this in Archie’s favour.

“Like, I get to name them,” Archie said.

That was a terrible, terrible deal. Archie never was good at negotiating. “Did you at least get confirmation of that in writing?” Jughead asked dryly.

Archie shook his head. “Nah. But you can draw up something for me if you’ve got time.”

“I don’t.”

Archie shrugged, clearly nonplussed. But Jughead couldn’t let this go.

“So, are you being given these cats, or...?”

Archie laughed. “Oh, believe you me. We don’t wanna go there--”

“I got them for a thousand dollars,” Veronica said casually. “But like I said, they’re really good cats.”

Jughead stared at her. “A thousand dollars for two cats?”

“ _No_ ," she said impatiently. "A thousand dollars for _each_ cat.”

Jughead put his fork down on the table and hung his head in his hands. He heard Betty giggle slightly next to him, and felt her place a hand on his shoulder. “I can’t talk about this anymore,” he despaired, shaking his head in his hands.

“What do you reckon I should call them?” Archie asked, having either not heard or chosen not to hear Jughead. “Maybe we should have a vote.”

Jughead sat back up, intent on redirecting the flow of conversation. “Speaking of voting, I don’t know if you’ve been reading about the political situation in New Zealand, but--”

There was a collective sigh from every other person at the table.

“What!” Jughead said indignantly. “It’s interesting stuff. Even Betty said it was interesting when I was telling her about it yesterday.”

“No, I didn’t,” Betty said, in what he felt was a display of remarkable disloyalty.

“Yes you did!” he argued. “You said, and I quote, _that’s very interesting, Jughead_.”

Veronica laughed. “Jughead, she probably wasn’t even listening to you. You’re welcome to read about the politics of obscure foreign countries, but I don’t want you to tell me about it while I’m eating my lasagna.”

Jughead very much doubted they were prepared to listen to any of what he had to say, even when they weren’t eating lasagna. They really could be a little narrow minded sometimes.

All in all, it wasn’t one of their more amicable dinners together, and that was saying something. But he guessed the point was that, despite this, they were all still there. And even if their numbers were going to be bolstered in future by two, hopefully he and Betty wouldn’t be ousted completely.

He supposed it wasn’t _his_ problem if Veronica wanted to introduce a family of cats across the hall. But it seemed unnecessary and made no sense to him whatsoever. He wasn’t sure if it was the extortionate price, the haste with which this seemed to have been arranged, or the sense of finality about the whole thing.

If nothing else, at least Veronica had waited for Betty and him to move out before making such a drastic decision. And if it had all been confirmed, Archie was probably right. Maybe Jughead _should_ take the opportunity to have a say in naming these cats.

He broached the subject again as the four of them went about clearing the table. “Archie, I do actually wanna help you name these green cats.”

“They’re blue! Russian Blue!” Veronica interrupted crossly. “And you definitely don’t get a say. There will be no voting.”

“That’s not very democratic of you.”

Veronica rolled her eyes. “I think you should go home now.”

“I think so, too,” he retorted, reaching for Betty’s hand.

 

***

 

Jughead lay in bed, arms folded across his chest, and stared up at the ceiling.

Somewhere over to his left, Betty was hanging up several items of clothing, having finally finished the last of her unpacking.

“I can’t believe Veronica and Archie are adopting a pair green cats,” he said, still unable to let this go.

Betty sighed. “Jughead, they’re not going to be _your_ cats. I wouldn’t worry about it too much.”

"Do you not feel like you've been replaced by a thousand dollar cat?"

Betty glanced over and offered him a reassuring smile. “No.”

“Okay, well...that’s nice for you.”

He watched as she moved onto sorting a pile of socks, folding them into neat pairs and tucking them away in a drawer.

“You seem a little grumpy,” Betty observed.

He _was_ grumpy. But it wasn’t her fault, and he did feel about it.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I don’t mean to be.”

“It’s okay.”

He watched her fold away one last sweater. “Can I ask you something?”

“Whatever you’d like,” she answered calmly. “I won’t tell.”

“How am I doing? Like… with _us_?”

Betty gave him a look that he recognised all too well, one that clearly read that this wasn’t what she’d been expecting. It faded somewhat as she contemplated the question. He watched her close the wardrobe door, turn out the light and cross the room over to their bed. She slipped under the covers and wriggled around to get comfortable.

“You’re to sweet to ask," she said.

He didn’t ask to be sweet, though he was glad she thought so. Truthfully, and as much as he didn’t like to admit it, he was entirely too reliant on scales as a measure of his efforts. His academic work had always been reflected in percentages, his job in performance reviews and salary and billable hours. They reassured him in his perpetual battle against mediocrity. He needed a tangible measure of his fulfillment of the boyfriend role, particularly now, when everything was changing and he wasn’t quite sure what to make of it.

This was possibly the most forthcoming he’d ever been, and yet she hadn’t answered his question.

“Do you have an answer?” he prompted.

In the dim glow of the bedside lamp he saw her place a finger to her lips and her eyes dart to the side, still deep in contemplation. And then she looked back at him. “I always know you’re there,” she said quietly. “Even when we’re in different places. Even when we’re mad about something and even when you won’t talk about things. I never question it.” She paused. “You shouldn’t question it either. You needn’t worry.”

He _did_ question it, and he _did_ worry about it. What she’d given him wasn’t quite a tangible measure, but all the same he couldn’t stop the right corner of his lips quirking into a smile. He unfolded his arms and rolled over a little, reaching out to pull her closer to him until the warmth of her body was pressed up against him.

“I think on some subconscious level,” he murmured, “I’m worried that we moved in here too quickly.”

Betty didn’t respond immediately. For a moment he wondered if she thought so too. But then he felt her shake her head slightly, her hair tickling his neck.

“No," she said softly, her fingers tracing gently up and down his side. "I think we took a calculated risk. But that’s what life’s about. You can’t mitigate risk completely.”

She always made it sound so simple. He thought he understood risk, even believed in it so much as to be able to tell other people it was an important part of life. But somehow coming from her it made more sense.

He’d noticed in recent months that all of his outward pretence of surety and direction had started to tumble down in Betty’s presence. There was something disarming about the way she asked very little of him - less than perhaps anyone else. It was that very thing that made him inclined to proffer something more than his usual illusion, to think, and to wonder whether this was the way things were supposed to be.

It was unnerving and reassuring and unsettling all at once.

When it became apparent he wasn’t going to respond, Betty giggled. “If you didn’t want to move in here, you should have said so earlier. It’s too late now, I just finished unpacking.”

Jughead scoffed. “That’s not what I meant.”

He really didn’t.

In a sea of uncertainty, she was the only thing that felt certain. The struggle lay in letting go of something comfortable, and adapting to something new.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As some of you have gathered, this is Jughead's story - in much the same way _Something_ was Betty's. What we have here is a bit of cognitive dissonance, the kind of post decision doubt that makes you regret abandoning something comfortable for something new and challenging. 
> 
> Thank you for all the lovely feedback. You guys are wonderful, and truthfully the primary reason I couldn't let go of this story <3
> 
> [@findingbetty](https://findingbetty.tumblr.com)
> 
> _Please note this story is currently on hold_


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